


Hearsay

by astrangerenters



Category: Final Fantasy XII
Genre: F/M, Introspection, Missing Scene, Pre-Relationship, Trust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-18
Updated: 2019-11-18
Packaged: 2021-02-08 07:40:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21472429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astrangerenters/pseuds/astrangerenters
Summary: Information is the true currency of Archades. Men like the streetear live and die by it.[Set during the party's time in Old Archades. Thoughts Ashe has regarding her surroundings. And regarding Balthier.]
Relationships: Balthier/Ashelia B'nargin Dalmasca
Comments: 8
Kudos: 30





	Hearsay

**Author's Note:**

> I've been playing the Zodiac Age - it's been 10+ years since I've written something for this game, so I wanted to see if I could still do it ;)
> 
> Hints of Balthier/Ashe, but in the earliest of stages.

Though the skies over Old Archades are gloomy and gray, hinting at storms to come, she still finds herself squinting. Moving out of the daylight, such as it is, to wait under the eave of a crumbling building, Ashe is glad to finally be free of Sochen’s damp and darkness. But she’s realizing that they’ve emerged into a different sort of darkness, though the sun has not yet set.

She stands at Fran’s side, out of the way as Balthier and Vaan converse with one of the locals around the bend. A stranger…or perhaps not. Though Vaan hangs on the man’s every word, Balthier is doubtful. Suspicious. Ashe hadn’t caught the start of the conversation, and she’s tucked herself out of the way. A group of six in the middle of the path would draw attention. Basch and Penelo have also found another place to sit, to wait for the path up to the capital to clear for them. Ashe, too, must wait.

She doubts anyone will know her, but the streets here have eyes, raking them up and down from every crevice and crack in the stone. Newcomers, especially those emerging from the cave complex like them, will draw attention either way. They’ve passed beggars, though most appear to have given up asking aloud for help. The shouts of children in the distance echo along the narrow passageways. The sighs of those who are older and resigned to their miseries are harder to hear. And harder to bear.

Ashe doesn’t like this place. 

In Lowtown, too, there were whispers. Rumors. Information to be traded, sold. It’s how the Resistance stayed active, stayed alive. But self-advancement and profit were not the aims. People gave aid to one another. We are all Rabanastrans, the baker would say to the hungry child, refusing to accept a gil for the day’s leftovers. We are all Dalmascans, the anonymous donor would write, words scratched on the scrap of paper accompanying the coin that found its way into the coffers of those like Ashe who would stand against the Empire. 

There is none of that here. Archades knows only competition. The mournful resentment of those who’ve long since failed and the selfish optimism of those who claim they will succeed where their peers did not…if only someone might give them a chance to move up and give it a try. 

“Have you been here before?” she asks Fran, wondering how it must feel to draw such stares no matter where you walk.

Fran nods. 

“With Balthier?” Ashe asks, unable to stifle her curiosity. 

Fran looks over to her this time, expression impossible to read. Her response is short.

“No.”

Their business is their own. Their partnership, their history…equally their own. But it’s been several days since the Hunters’ Camp. Several days since Ashe learned that Balthier has not always been a pirate. That he grew up here in the capital. Not here in the slums. With a well-placed father, it’s more likely one of those buildings soaring into the sky. 

Though Ashe had heard Archadia in his voice from the moment they met, she realizes that she’s never thought of him as one of them. As one of the thousands who probably rejoiced in her father’s death, her country’s fall. Among the skyscrapers or anxiously waiting to move out of the slum’s shadows, they know only their country’s glory. Archadia’s triumphs over the smaller nations it’s conquered or erased.

From the start, his motives seemed so obvious. The promise of treasure. The fattening of his own purse. Anything but politicking. How easy it had been for her to lure him in with her ancestor’s untouched tomb. How difficult it had been for her to keep him, his help coming at a cost she still smarts over from time to time, feeling the empty place on her finger. But back in the Phon sands he upended her naive perceptions, challenged her simplistic understanding of him. The man who demanded her ring is complicated. The man who demanded her ring has come home after fighting so hard to stay away.

For so much of this journey, she’s barely had a moment to breathe. To consider aught else but Dalmasca. Being pulled back and forth by the Empire, by her uncle. By Rasler’s too-real visage, his pointed silences. By her own hesitation and consuming doubt. She’s scarcely had time to consider her allies (her _friends_) beyond face value. Vaan and Penelo pledged themselves to see their home restored. Basch to honor an oath long ago sworn. Balthier and Fran…what more would a pirate want or require than treasure or coin?

On that front she’s been wrong. So very wrong.

Vaan approaches, interrupting as is his way. “Hey Ashe,” he says, staring around with a rather nervous look in his eyes. “Jules wants us to let him know if we’ve heard any rumors around town.”

“For what purpose?”

“To get us up to the city,” Vaan replies. 

“Information is the true currency of Archades,” Fran admits beside her. “Men like the streetear live and die by it.”

Ashe can’t help but peer around the corner, eyes moving to the strange fellow perched on his crate. She meets eyes with him, with this Jules. He cocks his head. Smiles. A shiver runs down her spine and she looks away.

“Can we trust a man like that?”

“No,” says Balthier, startling her as he comes around the opposite wall, moving to Fran’s side. “But there’s no one who knows the underbelly of the capital quite like him.”

“Is there no other way to proceed?” Ashe asks. She doesn’t dare ask him to share any personal expertise. It’s not clear to her if their conversation about his past and his ties to the capital should be shared openly. Fran knows him, all of him - of that, Ashe has no doubt. But Vaan and the others…

“We play at his game for an hour, perhaps two. No longer. I’ll come up with an alternative if Vaan finds nothing of interest to him,” Balthier decides, and Ashe wonders when she agreed to cede so much of the group’s decision-making to him. Since Phon? Since Bur-Omisace? 

(Or perhaps since she begged him to steal her away.)

“I shall come along,” Fran says, giving Vaan no room to argue. “I distract them well.”

Balthier grins. “There are some here who may not have encountered a Viera before. Perhaps it’ll loosen a tongue or two. Well. Get to it.”

Vaan hurries off, Fran at a leisurely pace behind him. Fran will look out for him, ensure he doesn’t wander into trouble in pursuit of the information the streetear thinks worth learning. Balthier is beside her then, moving to lean back against the stone wall with an exhaled breath.

“And what of the rest of us?” Ashe asks him. “Are we all to join the game?”

He shakes his head lightly. “One Dalmascan accent going to and fro in this neighborhood pestering the locals is odd enough. Two of you, three if Penelo plays, and you risk becoming the interesting rumor instead. A risk we can’t afford.”

“Are we to just idle here? For an hour or more?” she asks uncomfortably, still feeling as though the entire slum is looking at her, even as she lingers in the shadows. Who are you, they wonder. Why are you here? And who might be curious to know that you are?

“You wish to escape?” Balthier has the ghost of a smile on his lips. She wonders how he can maintain his good humor even here, a place to which he never wanted to return. “You’d rather wander off and talk to strangers than me? And all this time I foolishly thought we were comrades…”

The opposite is true, Ashe can’t help thinking. She has so much she wants to ask him, so much that isn’t necessarily her business to know. He’s told her just enough to ignite a spark of curiosity that she keeps struggling to tamp down. Perhaps he can tell.

“That wasn’t what I meant,” she protests lightly. “Your company is welcome.”

“Then let’s have a walk. Are you hungry? We might find a street vendor, though I’d avoid any meat items you can’t readily identify.”

They have enough provisions to last at least another day or two, but she’s happy to put any amount of distance between herself and that streetear’s cocky smile. She doesn’t like the look of him. Likes even less that they’re to rely on him to proceed.

“Lead the way.”

They set a slow pace. Rushing about is not the way of this neighborhood, save for the children at play. They come across Basch, who stands at the entrance to a short alleyway, blocking most of it with his body. Behind him Penelo waits with their belongings, looking sad. Ashe assumes Penelo has made her own comparisons between this place and Lowtown.

“Vaan is off hunting, with Fran to assist,” Balthier says. “The rest of us will lie low, keep to ourselves.”

“A hunt?” Basch mutters. “At timing such as this?”

Balthier grins. “He hunts only for hearsay this time. We wait for him to uncover something of note that can barter our passage up to the city.”

Basch seems skeptical and rightly so. “And what qualifies as something of note?”

“It’s not for me to decide,” he replies, a slight edge to his tone. 

“We will keep out of the way for now,” Ashe says. “Blend in as best we can.”

Basch nods. “I will stand by here.”

Penelo barely looks up, clearly not in the mood to wander about, to be confronted with more misery.

Ashe and Balthier continue on alone down the pathway, weeds and tufts of grass breaking through cracks in the paving stones. The nature of their journey has put them all in close quarters for weeks now. There has been safety in their numbers as they’ve crossed plains, navigated jungles, trudged through snow. Here such tactics are ill-advised. 

Aside from their conversation at Phon, she hasn’t spent much time with Balthier alone. It feels like ages ago that Vossler took her aside as they made their way across the vast expanse of the sandsea.

“Do not find yourself alone in his company, Princess,” Vossler had advised. “His kind are not to be trusted.”

Ashe’s heart aches, remembering that advice. Remembering the man who gave it. _His kind are not to be trusted_. A funny thing, trust. Vossler had said nothing of the sort about Fran, though she is a sky pirate the same as her partner. Funnier still.

His voice cuts through her recollections. “Stay with me now.”

“Hmm?” she mumbles, thoughts scattered.

He seems amused, walking slowly at her side. “You’re miles away, Princess.”

“I’ve a lot on my mind.”

“Understandable. But it’s best we stay on our guard here.”

She pushes Vossler’s voice and poor advice aside, does her best to remain in the present. “Then tell me something. Do you know that streetear?”

Balthier snorts. “Unfortunately.”

She keeps her voice quiet. “You’ve been to this area before?”

He shakes his head. “Rarely. This was a place you’d only come on a dare. As a joke.” 

They pass by an old woman wrapped in a shawl, begging quietly for aid. Balthier stops to drop a few gil in the cup she’s shaking, but he picks up his pace again quickly. Ashe does her best to keep up with him.

“As a joke?” she repeats once they’re far enough away.

“When one’s Akademy chums wish to feel superior, why not pop down here and see the struggling in person?” 

What a terrible thing to do. A cruel thing, Ashe thinks. Perhaps the coins in the old woman’s cup were to ease a guilty conscience. The guilt of a wealthy boy who knows better now. Living in Lowtown, sneaking through the Garamsythe…such experiences did much to humble the Princess of Dalmasca. Open her eyes to what’s really important.

“But as to the streetear,” Balthier says, coming back around to Ashe’s initial question, “he’s slippery. Sells what he hears to the highest bidder, and that’s usually someone above, not below.”

After Phon, it seems like he intends to parcel out slivers of information about his life one at a time moving forward. Everything he probably considers part of that past he’d rather forget.

“I am sorry to pry.”

She hears him chuckle. “No. You are not.”

Ashe can’t deny her interest in him, not now. Not after the things he’s told her, his concerns and his warnings. His history. She has nothing to say in her own defense.

They turn a corner, but the way is blocked. A handful of dirt-stained boys playing at some game with sticks and a worn leather ball. They duck down a different alleyway, and she soon hears Balthier let out a groan.

“What is it?”

“Well, we’ve already come all this way. No turning back now.”

Before Ashe can ask what he means, she hears a man call out from a few buildings down, his voice rough.

“Clean rooms. I’ve got clean rooms!”

She feels Balthier’s hand at her elbow, pulling her a bit closer. This alleyway winds its way uphill, narrowing as it goes. 

“Clean rooms!” comes a woman’s voice from a little further down the alley. “Come rest a spell, love.”

The man, not to be outdone, calls out again. “By the hour! Reasonable rates.”

Ashe is confused. Why would anyone stay for only an hour at a time…

She almost asks Balthier what the point would be, but then she feels foolish. She looks up, catches him grinning.

“Fancy a nap?” he asks.

As the proprietors continue to market their establishments, Ashe feels herself reddening in embarrassment. Sure there were places like this in Lowtown, places tucked away in the perfumed corners of the bazaars, but they were never so…overt about it.

“No,” she mutters. “I do _not_ fancy a nap.”

“The Alley of Muted Sighs,” Balthier says. “Or so some locals call it. Others call it Pearl Alley, and I’d rather not explain why in the presence of a highborn lady. The gentry from above sometimes carry out their love affairs down here. Adds another layer of danger to what may already be a dangerous liaison.”

Ashe has no interest in the love affairs of the Archadian upper classes. As they continue down the alleyway, Ashe can hear a few of them in progress. So much for muted sighs. It makes her uncomfortable, overhearing such things. It makes her uncomfortable, feeling Balthier’s warm hand pressed against her arm as they walk. It still feels so strange, to have another’s hand upon her. After Rasler’s loss, she put all her energy into survival, into Dalmasca. 

Married and widowed at seventeen. Ashe would pity someone else stricken with such ill luck, but she can’t find much for herself. There are more important things to worry about. She’s given little thought to the concept of someone being so close to her ever again. To letting someone touch her again. To loving another and longing for it in return. Love for anything but Dalmasca, for anyone but _him_ (even two years gone), is a luxury.

Balthier’s touch at present seems only to be a protective one, a guiding one in unfriendly territory. This is not the first time he’s done so, and it’s never registered in her mind as a prelude to or implication of something more on his part. There’s an odd sort of gallantry to him sometimes, pirate or no. But still it floods her with guilt, to allow him to touch her. With each step more, she knows she will feel even guiltier when he lets her go. Because she knows she’ll miss the contact.

She wishes they’d gone a different way.

They turn down another narrow passageway, only to find Jules the streetear leaning against the wall. A twinkle in his eye seems proof enough that he’s followed them for a reason. It’s now that Balthier’s hand drops away from her, though he continues to stand close.

“Visiting Pearl Alley for business or pleasure?”

Balthier stares the streetear down. “Just out for a walk while our friend hunts down something of interest. As you well know.”

“Odd place for a stroll, this.”

“Merely taking in some local color,” Balthier replies.

Ashe sees no point in joining the conversation. Anything she says might be used against her. She can sense that much from the combative tone in each man’s voice. This is not their first argument. 

“This group of travelers you’ve found yourself in is sending my mind in a dozen directions, Master Balthier. You seemed always the lone wolf to me, and yet here you arrive with quite the ragtag pack.”

Balthier merely lets out a huff of irritation. Ashe has never seen him struggle with words before. This man gets under his skin.

Jules prattles on. “Let’s see. There was the Dalmascan boy, eager to please. A Viera. For protection or entertainment or both, I suspect. The father and daughter guarding your supplies…”

Ashe bites the inside of her cheek. It seems the streetear has jumped to a few conclusions, but better he thinks Basch no more than some father along for the journey. But then Jules turns those curious eyes on her.

“And you, love? The woman who warms the bed of a pirate?”

Denial and anger rises quickly in her throat, though an uncontrollable blush warms her face. “You presume…”

Balthier cuts her off, taking a step forward. His voice is low, approaching a snarl. “Presume whatever you wish, Jules, if it comforts you.” He turns to her, eyes dark to match her own reaction. “Shall we continue?”

She nods, knowing the streetear is poking and prodding in hopes of uncovering something he can sell. Still, it is hard to mask her fury at his presumption. Her embarrassment. Jules stands aside as Balthier moves forward with purpose. Ashe lengthens her strides to keep up, feeling Jules’ eyes on her back as they follow the path up and around, back in the direction of where they’d left Basch and Penelo.

They walk quietly, and Balthier keeps his hands to himself.

“I’m sorry,” he eventually says. “For not allowing you to gut him like a fish for his insinuation.”

Ashe finds herself almost selfishly pleased by his words. He might have apologized for not leaping to defend her honor. Instead he is sorry for not letting her defend _herself_. The difference is important. The difference matters to her. 

“We need him. For now.” 

“Unfortunate, that.” He lets out a weary sigh. “But I’m sorry just the same.”

The man who demanded her ring is complicated. But the man who demanded her ring respects her. She’s not sure what to do with this knowledge. Not yet.

They return to their companions just as Vaan comes running, hope in his face.

“Learned anything?” Balthier asks him.

“I’ll see what Jules thinks.”

“Then off you go.”

Balthier steps away, and Ashe already feels his absence keenly, a knot forming in her stomach. Eventually Vaan comes back, saying now is the time to move. Jules catches her eye as they all sneak away, following Balthier up to the city. When he gives her a wink, she wonders what rumors may follow their departure.


End file.
